Common Enemy
by MyMagicalBlueSocks
Summary: Desmond, under Templar (Abstergo and GENTEK) command, is told to kill Dana Mercer. Too bad no one warned him about Alex Mercer. Alex/Desmond. (Events are after PROTOTYPE, after ACI and sometime during ACII)


Summary: Desmond, under Templar (Abstergo and GENTEK) command, is told to kill Dana Mercer. Too bad no one warned him about Alex Mercer. Alex/Desmond. (Events are after PROTOTYPE, after ACI and sometime during ACII)

Chapter One

Desmond dabbed his forehead with one of his sleeves before he rolled both up his forearms until he was satisfied, gently tucking them in so they wouldn't fall back down. Surreptitiously glancing around the room, he moved to rest his elbows on the bar in front of him and laced his hands together so his chin could comfortably rest on the bridge his fingers made.

A quick glance behind him had him catching sight of the clock – ten, on a warm night – and he resisted the urge to heft a sigh, briefly closing his eyes before peering down the bar at his fellow bartender who looked as bored and as tired as he felt. Desmond couldn't afford to be tired. Couldn't afford to slip up. Sure, it was just a job to some but, to Desmond; this was a key part of his livelihood right now.

Resisting the urge to yawn, since he felt he could want nothing more that to crawl into an empty, quiet space and sleep for a week, Desmond tried to focus again. It had taken Lucy and Shaun so much wheedling and cajoling of Vidic to allowed Desmond in this place, a bar, which the current target had once frequented. Desmond was feeling doubtful since he had been here for two months and hadn't seen hide nor tail or his future victim.

He couldn't lose focus. Not now.

A hand slammed down on the bar in front of him and the rancid breath of someone who had been drinking far too much washed over his face as the man opposite him slurred, "'nother one. Make it fuckin' quick."

After the first week, Desmond knew a lot of the regulars that came in. When he asked the small, rude man in the rumpled suit what he wanted to drink when this had happened before, he'd been socked in the jaw and called a number of creative things.

After that incident, if someone approached that Desmond didn't know, someone on duty as well would lean over and tell him what they were most likely to order should they just ask for a drink and offer no explanation.

Reaching under the bar for a glass, Desmond mutely filled it with beer until the froth was in danger of spilling over the edge. He pushed it silently over the counter, carefully, and watched as the patron snatched it up and walked off.

"What, no thanks?" a soft, amused voice called, and Desmond scoffed quietly even while his mouth curled into a grin that was more of a grimace as he replied, twisting to face his newest customer, "Well, he didn't hit me. Suppose that's thanks enough."

He caught the shimmer out of the corner of his eye as he turned and automatically (no, no, not automatically, these were the instincts of others, not his own, never his own) his Eagle Vision flared. The lithe body perched on a seat at the bar was bathed in gold, from head to toe, and Desmond's breath nearly hitched as he realised he was facing Dana Mercer.

Between one blink and the next, the Vision faded and Dana was already replying, murmuring loud enough to be heard over the bustle and sound of the bar, "I guess seeing the back of his head and not having a bloody lip is thanks enough for those types, huh?"

"More than enough. Can I get you anything to drink? Can't risk having the boss see me chatting up a pretty lady on my work hours."

His target laughed softly, as if amused, and absently pushed a hand through her short hair before replying, "Maybe something strong. Surprise me." Dana settled deeper into her seat and then asked, "You new here? Don't often see new faces considering the whole plight a couple years back..."

Desmond set about shuffling through the bottles, combing his mind to try and get an idea of what Dana could have been talking about. Eventually, mouth twisted ruefully as he poured a rich golden drink into a tumbler of ice, he admitted, "Haven't been back in Manhattan long to be honest, just under a year maybe? I've seen the construction though. Must've been a lot of damage. Don't get me wrong, I'm American through and through, but I was living in Italy before all this and watching the news wasn't really on the agenda."

He'd been in and out of the animus for the past five years, the use of the machine bouncing between him and Clay. Not much time to check on news when it was all spent on eating and sleeping and trying to live in the present, not the past.

Pulling his thoughts from that route, Desmond pushed her drink across the bar. "Desmond Miles. They haven't gotten around to making me a nametag in case I run for it. Thought you might like to know the name of the man getting you drunk tonight."

"Dana Mercer." Her smile was almost forced, as if she expected him to react adversely to who she was. When he didn't immediately make a move, he watched as she almost imperceptibly relaxed. As she dragged a finger around the rim of her glass, she murmured, "Italy. Wow. Still not sure how you missed it, what, with it being plastered everywhere..." she had an almost haunted expression on her face, clouding her eyes, before she shook her head.

"But I'm sure you'll find out soon enough; can understand why it's all hush, hush. Anyway, I'm here to get drunk, not reminisce about the past too much, no matter how much the two go hand in hand."

Dana clasped her hand around the glass and lifted it to Desmond, who felt his mouth curve up slightly in answer to the mock salute. Before Dana could take a sip of it however, a hand reached from behind her and from over her shoulder to pluck it from her grasp as a body settled into the bar stool that was next to hers.

Desmond almost flinched at the sudden arrival and, when a scrutinising blue gaze dropped onto him, wondered if he should have stifled his instinct of keeping fear hidden and shown some sort of outwards response to the man's silent appearance.

Dana chose to lean over close to this companion, so close in fact that Desmond could neither hear her nor read her lips as she told the hooded newcomer something. His response was to incline his head and then, as if remembering the drink in his hand, downed it one go, the movement blocky.

Desmond would go as far as to say that the movement looked rehearsed, though he would be lying if he admitted he wasn't impressed that someone could down a drink that fast and not even wince at the burn.

"This is Alex, Alex Mercer. My brother," Dana introduced slowly, expression once again turning almost cagey, same as when she introduced herself, as if she expected Desmond to run screaming for the exit.

When Desmond simply nodded in reply, wondering if he was supposed to offer his hand in greeting, he caught sight of a familiar blue flicker from the corner of his eye, a brief brush of Eagle Vision as someone entered the bar with a slight gust of warm air.

Unable to help himself, Desmond tracked the movement of blue from his peripheral until the person who set it off settled further down the bar and Desmond could see them better. The knot of worry stuck in his throat when he realised it was Shaun.

Catching his eye from where he had been almost unnoticeably staring, Shaun lifted a hand in mimicry of a drink and Desmond refrained both from swallowing and pursing his lips before he turned his attention back to Alex and Dana, acutely aware they may have caught the exchange.

"Is there anything else you two need or...? This side of the bar is mine tonight and there's another customer..." Desmond trailed off, waiting for an answer and willing the Eagle Vision to leave, the gold blaze of Dana almost blinding him at close range. Alex, thankfully, didn't trigger the vision, just sepia toned black and white.

"I can wait." Dana smiled. "I'm just going to sit here and marvel that Alex actually came out of his apartment tonight and joined the world of the living."

Alex simply ducked his head as if chagrined or embarrassed before he reached out to pick up the glass he had drained, slim fingers holding onto it lightly as he murmured, swirling the remaining ice around gently, "Another one of these, when you can."

His voice was deep, a little rusty almost, as if from disuse. Desmond wryly noted that it matched the whole 'dark, tall, dangerous' vibe that Alex had going for him with the hooded face and black jacket, though he was wise enough to keep this notion to himself.

Nodding briefly, Desmond fought the overwhelming urge to frown in distaste as he walked down the short length of bar towards Shaun, who already smelt like a brewery, or if he had had beer thrown over him.

It took concentration for his voice to come out friendly and not as a hiss when he asked, wary of possible listeners, "What do you want?"

"For you to get off your high fucking horse already and take me back," Shaun spat in turn, some of his words slurring together as he spoke them though, when Desmond peered closely, he realised the other couldn't be drunk and, despite the icy pit of worry gnawing at his stomach, he clicked on to the fact that this was all a cleverly put on act by the Brit.

Ignoring the shiver that danced down his spine by resting his hands on the bar and leaning forward, Desmond followed the ruse that had been laid out for him by Shaun.

"Look, it's been like four weeks already dude and you haven't let up. Face it, we're not - " his breath caught in his throat and he almost bit through his tongue when Shaun snatched his shirt collar in both hands and harshly yanked. One of Desmond's hands slipped out from under him and his forearm hit the aged wood with a dull thud and a brief flash of pain when his wrist bone followed suit.

The back of Desmond's neck abruptly prickled as he felt numerous gazes turn in their direction, drunken spectators watching the scene with either wariness or anticipation. No one moved to help but the steady buzz of background noise had faded away before it began again, more hesitant.

"Now you listen here, you Yank." Shaun sneered, face pressed so close their foreheads briefly bumped as he tightened his fingers in Desmond's shirt, to the point of almost choking him. "We're done when I say _we're done._ You don't get a say if _it's over._ You aren't going to _get out_ that easy."

The soft emphasis on choice words had the gnawing sensation in Desmond's stomach double and he pulled his mouth into a tight lipped grimace. "Just stop it, Shaun. _I'm not going_ back with you. Not when you're a possessive bastard that hates the fact _I have a job_ and that _I won't back out _of it because you asked me to. Come on, I've had enough of this shit and you're causing a scene."

Shaun let him go, snatching his hands back as if burnt and briefly closing his fingers into tight fists at his sides. Suddenly he reached out and snatched a handful of Desmond's collar again, face twisted in a snarl while his eyes purveyed the apology he wouldn't be able to say straight away.

Desmond barely had time to clench his jaw so nothing would be broken and no teeth lost before Shaun's knuckles collided with the lower half of the left side of his face. The grip on the collar of his shirt had fulfilled its purpose, the fabric pulled loose enough so that when Shaun had hit him, the piece of paper wedged between his knuckles had fallen into the gap down Desmond's shirt. It was now pressed against his ribs, giving him an itchy sensation.

Managing a half step back and pressing his hand against his face, Desmond watched as bouncers manhandled Shaun towards the exit, one of them lifting an eyebrow at which he offered a thumbs up and was given a salute in return.

Desmond hesitantly rubbed his jaw and then licked his lips, grimacing at both the sting in the corner of his mouth and the taste of blood on his tongue before he was slouching back down the bar towards Dana Mercer and her counterpart. Dana's expression was a mix of surprise and worry, while Alex stared into his tumbler of half melted ice cubes.

"Oh man, Desmond. That was a hard punch. You okay dude?" Dana leaned over the bar, eyes squinting at his face as her mouth turned down in a frown, expression open with concern.

"Happens more often than you'd think, in a room of drunks anyway. I'll have a pretty bruise in the morning but eventually even that souvenir will be gone." Desmond rubbed his jaw absently despite the ache in his face, and almost started when Alex told him, quietly, again in the rough voice, "You should get ice on it. Reduces the swelling and pain."

"You aren't the first to tell me that," Desmond laughed and winced in the pain, hand scuffing his jaw gently again. "Can you wait for your drinks or can I go and see how bad it is?" There was a sudden warm wetness against his upper lip and an expression of horror dawned on Dana's face.

"Oh, no, we're okay! Go get yourself sorted, I can wait, we can wait." Dana quickly placated him, hands waving at him in a shooing movement that reminded Desmond suddenly, and quite fondly, of Rebecca.

"Thanks." Desmond couldn't help but rub the back of his wrist under his nose, making an avid noise of disgust under his breath at the mucous-bloody mix that stained his skin. Resisting the urge to wipe it on his white, pristine work shirt, he moved to duck under the bar separator, gaining a look of sympathy from one of his co-workers as he picked his way through the drunk, sweaty throng of people towards the bathroom.

He edged around a man who was trying – and failing – to take a leak in the urinal and made a beeline for the nearest mirror, lips twisting down as he took in his features. He knew Shaun had to punch hard to make the ruse seem authentic but still...

Sighing softly to himself, Desmond ducked into one of the cubicles, shutting the door behind him and flicking over the flimsy lock, as much as it would help and wiped his hands clean on some rough tissues before he slipped some of the shirt buttons free in order to tug out the note Shaun had passed to him.

He pressed his lips together tightly, ignoring the twinge in his jaw as he read what had been given to him, giving a vicious swear under his breath as he scrubbed his free hand over his head before he flushed the piece of paper down the toilet and buttoned up his shirt, gathering a handful of the rough, cheap tissues from the dispenser in the cubicle.

He wandered back over to the vacant mirror, wetting the tissues under the tap and dabbing at his nose, wincing at the tender pain the action caused. Shaun punched as he worked. Quickly, seriously and without a hint of mercy.

A hand shot into the periphery of his vision and Desmond swore as he flinched back, aggravating the ache in his jaw and making his nose throb again.

"Dana asked an attendant to provide her with a bag of ice with which to assist you with," Alex stated monotonously, completely undeterred, as if frightening people were part of his daily routine. In his hand, clasped almost delicately between finger and thumb, was a cold compress pack. "They gave her this instead, from the first aid box."

Desmond eyed him warily, before reaching out the hand not fisted around bloody tissues for the offering. As he closed his fingers around the plastic, crinkling it, Alex's free hand jerked up to grab onto his wrist. A prickle ran down Desmond's spine and he had to push down the instincts that flared at the casual touch to one of his extremities.

"You were conversing casually with my sister. What are your goals?"

The prickle tiptoed down his spine again and Desmond schooled his expression to be slightly exasperated, annoyed, to hide his fear and true intentions. The undeniable thought he'd been found out clawed its way into his mind for a brief second, but if Alex knew that Desmond was plotting to assassinate his sister, he wouldn't be asking so carefully about it.

"I don't know her. She's a customer. She came in; she asked for a drink, I served her. She didn't move from the bar, I struck up conversation. It happens all the time, though this is the first time someone has accosted me in the bathroom about it."

Alex's fingers twitched around his wrist and Desmond felt nervousness twist his mouth into a frown at the worry his wrist would get broken for his sharp response. His worries were unfounded, as Alex simply chose to stare at him with an inscrutable gaze for another half minute and then released both Desmond's wrist and the icepack, sweeping out of the bathroom in what looked like an overdramatic move.

Desmond stared as the door swung back into place before he shook the compress out to activate it, pressing it to his skin and grumbling because of the ache that settled into place in his jaw when the cold hit bare flesh.

Scrubbing the rest of the blood from his face so he once more resembled a clean cut member of society, Desmond left the bathroom, weaving around the thick crowd of dancers with a skill born of months, years, lifetimes of practice.

When he made his way back behind the bar, he eyed Alex out of the corner of his eye, across the room by the door, and then Dana was grimacing as she squinted in the darkness at his face.

"You okay Desmond?" Dana's voice was soft and careful, as if he were an animal ready to bolt. "I see Alex managed to get that icepack to you. He wasn't a jerk about it, was he?"

"He was the epitome of politeness," Desmond replied, enough of an inflection to his voice that the tight expression on Dana's face imperceptibly loosened and she relaxed against the bar, hands wrapping around a drink someone else must have served her while Desmond was otherwise occupied.

"Glad to hear it." Dana took a careful sip of her drink, setting it down gently. "He can be a little..." she waved a hand uselessly, "Abrasive."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," Desmond laughed quietly and immediately winced as his face ached in protest. There was a twist down of Dana's mouth in sympathy and she offered him her drink to which Desmond hesitated and then took, taking a mouthful of the strong, burning liquid and setting it back down, feeling the warmth spread through his body.

"Perhaps you should go home?" Dana asked quietly. "I don't know much about bar etiquette but surely if a member of staff gets hit, you should be allowed time off...?"

"Well, then how would I spend time with a lovely woman such as yourself?" Desmond shot back easily, briefly stepping away to fill someone's order. He was pleased to see, with his sharp eyes, her cheeks darken in a blush, watching closely from the edge of his vision as she lifted a hand to self consciously tuck a non-existent loose strand of hair behind her ear. She had taken the compliment well.

When Desmond returned, Dana leaned across the bar to him, voice lowered so he could only just hear her as she murmured, "It could be the meagre amount of alcohol I've had talking. It could be the loud music. It could even be your stupidly pretty face. But do you know that small corner cafe two blocks from here? It's not popular but the coffee and crepes are divine. I don't suppose you might indulge this 'lovely woman' and meet her there tomorrow for a late lunch?"

Desmond felt himself smiling, by the twinge of pain in his jaw and at the corner of his mouth when it tugged the small cut. He rest his forearms on the counter separating them, leaning in even closer so that he could feel her breath fan softly against his face. "Well, how could I say no?"

Dana beamed and then leaned back, not out of discomfort, but to rummage in the purse hanging from her shoulder to dig out her phone. Immediately realising what she was expecting, Desmond reached into his apron to pull out his own phone, giving it to her and accepting hers when prompted so he could type in his number.

"Is two okay for you?" Dana murmured as she accepted her phone back, and Desmond had to stifle another smile as she dragged her fingertips against the palm of his hand as she did so.

"Two is perfect. Gives me time to sleep in."

Dana gave a sympathetic grimace as she swept back her jacket sleeve to squint at her watch and murmured, "Long hours, huh?"

"Normally I wouldn't leave until three, but with this." Desmond gestured to his face. "I'll probably have to go home or risk scaring the customers. Hopefully it won't bruise too badly."

"Go home, Desmond," Dana offered a soft, consoling smile. "I've seen enough of injuries from my brother to know that you could probably do better than an ice pack and worrying about smiling for customers the rest of the night. Like you said, you might frighten someone with a face like that."

"And if I still look like this tomorrow?" Desmond asked, feeling slightly amused.

"I'll be slightly appeased knowing I remember what you looked like before half of your face turned purple."

Desmond laughed.

* * *

><p>All but crawling out of the Animus, Desmond tried to steady his heartbeat, swallowing the heady taste of fear from his mouth and wiping his hand over his face. As he moved, he could still feel the phantom ache of a wound long past, cold metal biting into warm flesh, and bile rose in his throat, burning, choking.<p>

"How nice of you to join us, Desmond. I thought you'd be spending the rest of the night in there," Shaun commented bluntly, slapping a hand down onto Desmond's taut shoulder. "I, for one, want to get to bed instead of babysitting you."

Desmond rolled his eyes, exhaustion making his body throb and glared up at Shaun, swatting his hand away in a shooing motion. It took a few blinks and a hurried scrub of his face, aggravating the bruise and bust lip, but Shaun finally stopped looking so reminiscent of Malik and that was when Desmond fumbled to his feet with a jaw creaking yawn, ignoring the look of semi-concern Shaun was giving him.

"Are you going to be okay, Desmond?" Shaun's hand was back, this time resting on his elbow, his eyes darting over the dark bruises on Desmond's face, and Desmond just grunted, yawning softly again before muttering, "I'm going to get a few hours of sleep. Got a meet up with Dana at two."

"Desmond," Shaun hissed, voice dropping. "It's off. Didn't you read the notice I sent you?"

"Vidic caught me on my way in, Shaun. He was ever so curious how I injured my face and even asked how the status of the current mission was, wondering if I was any closer to finding and killing Dana Mercer. I told him I got on the wrong side of a customer, and that I've finally encountered her. He _firmly_ reminded me that this job was incredibly important."

"It's incredibly dangerous, that's what it bloody is," Shaun bit back, voice still low and bordering a whisper. "Vidic is trying to get you _killed_ with this target. Dana's brother, Alex? He was the reason for that whole military FUBAR with the Blacklight Virus. Her brother was _Zeus. _You go after Dana and he will tear you apart, Desmond."

"And if I don't do this, _Vidic_ will tear me apart. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, if I'm to believe what you're saying."

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, Desmond." Shaun's voice was soft, careful. "Vidic is only human."

"I sometimes wonder, Shaun. I sometimes wonder. I'm going to sleep. Don't get me up before midday."

Shaun scoffed, irritated that Desmond was avoiding the issue, but he still escorted Desmond to his room, catching the young man whenever he staggered or pinched the bridge of his nose to swear in rusty, angry Arabic.

* * *

><p>It was half twelve when Desmond managed to drag himself out of bed, feeling half dead and wondering if he was even awake, imprints of vivid images caught behind his heavy eyelids. It was fifteen minutes later that he was climbing into the shower, twisting it on and flinching at the cold slap of water to his bare back, annoyed yet thankful it had woken him up.<p>

He was climbing out of the cubicle, skin scrubbed raw and feeling more human when his phone, sat on the windowsill, began singing an obnoxious tune that Desmond chalked down to Rebecca having messed with his things.

Towel tucked firmly around his waist, Desmond scratched his shoulder with his free hand as he answered the call without checking who it was, mumbling a rough, "Hello?" into the mouthpiece.

"_Desmond?"_ It was Dana, voice light, amused._ "I'm glad this is the right number, honestly. Are you alright? You still sound half asleep. Did I call at a bad time?"_

Desmond pulled the phone from his ear to squint at the time, before he pressed it back to the side of his face and replied, "No, no, it isn't a bad time. I've been up for half an hour but it takes me some time to, you know, actually become a functioning member of society again first thing."

Dana laughed, the noise soft and gentle.

"_I'm glad I didn't pull you from your beauty rest then. I feel marginally less guilty. I'm only calling to – regrettably – let you know about a slight change in plans, if it isn't too much trouble."_

"Oh, are you dumping me already?" Desmond shot back lightly, giving a quiet laugh himself and wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder to catch his towel, which had started to slip, needing both hands to try and tuck it back into place.

"_No, no, nothing like that but…Alex wants to…what's the word. Chaperone? I suppose it's like that." _Dana's voice was more hesitant this time, almost worried. _"It won't be a problem will it? We had…we had some shit go down a while back, and he's worried."_

Desmond thought back to his time at the Farm, when he could barely step from his room without being shadowed, and decided he recognised where Alex was coming from, if the elder Mercer was anything like Desmond's own father.

"It's fine, Dana. I haven't anything against his being there. Is two still okay?" Desmond moved to take the phone from its wedged position, using his free hand to stifle a soft yawn.

"_Two's fine. I-I'm sorry. I let it slip when he saw me getting ready and now he's determined to not let me meet up with 'a veritable stranger I found in a decrepit bar' as he so eloquently put it."_

"Dana," Desmond lowered his voice, soothing for the intent of calming her, a skill learnt over the years. Even if Alex was there, he could still find out what he needed. "It's fine. I don't mind. I understand."

"_Thanks."_ Dana's sigh of relief was tangible and Desmond could hear the smile in her voice. _"I'll see you soon Desmond. Two o'clock."_

"Two o'clock," Desmond confirmed and couldn't help the twitch of a smile as Dana hung up and he lowered the phone back to the windowsill with a soft exhale, yawning into his hand once more.

It was on days like these, when he was doing something normal in the name of what he was born and made to do, Desmond felt like perhaps he'd had an ordinary upbringing, that this was an actual date. He sometimes wondered what life would have been like if he'd stayed at the Farm, if he'd never been caught. If Altair, if Ezio, had never been his ancestors.

It didn't do well to dwell on those thoughts, though. It was just wishful thinking after all.

He was about halfway to the café they had agreed to meet at, only another few streets away, when the Bleeding Effect hit him with all the force of a fist to the solar plexus. He staggered to a stop as a horse careened past him, the figure sat abreast the saddle laughing freely, cape fluttering in a non existent wind.

It was only a handful of seconds later that several other horses came flying by, angry shouts of Italian reaching his ears of '_Stop the assassin'_ and '_Don't let him get away!'_

On days like these, Desmond hated Ezio's tendency to be flashy, to make a ruckus and put on a show, to dress up fancy and colourful and attract attention like a peacock showing its feathers.

He stumbled down an empty alleyway as the metallic tang of age old blood burst across his tongue, as the clash of steel echoed in his ears and the screams of civilians rattled his brain. His arms were already aching, from the memory of swinging a sword around exuberantly, his hand sticky with the blood of the most recent victim of the hidden blade.

The next scream sounded closer and was real enough that it shocked Desmond, who was lost as to where his confused, frazzled mind had taken him. His ingrained sense of good morality had him staggering to the tight corner of the next alley, even as his body revolted against him.

The moment he rounded the bend, something shot past his ear, barely missing his cheek by a bare centimetre and probably shaved his hair even closer to his skull. At first he'd thought it had been a bullet, that he'd stumbled upon a mugging gone wrong.

And then he got a closer look.

There was something next to his head, stuck to the wall behind him, long, thin and sharp, with the fuzzy image of a spear hovering over it. As Desmond let his eyes drag along the length of it, he found it had no end and, in fact, was attached to one Alex Mercer instead.

The comical look of startled comprehension on Alex's face was almost enough to make Desmond laugh as he watched the red and black limb slowly draw back and break apart before twisting back together to return Alex's arm into an actual arm.

"You're the bartender Dana was to meet today." Alex's voice was incredibly deadpan, hinting to just a slight bit of worry for the expression still twisting his face. "I can explain."

Desmond could barely hear him, other voices bouncing in and around him in startled, angry shouts of a mix of Italian and Arabic that sounded like a particularly butchered language.

He hadn't realised Alex had come closer until something in his instincts screamed and the movements he made were fluid as he ducked underneath the reaching arm and sharply turned to slam an elbow into the base of Alex's skull. It was an action not to maim but to kill, to break the spine.

He spat at what _should_ have been a body and was faced, instead, with a something out of a horror movie, one hand wrapping around his throat within seconds and slamming him into a wall as the second hand twisted into a sharp clawed monstrosity, one sharp claw tip hovering over Desmond's eye.

"_Non mi toccare voi sporcizia!" _Desmond hissed, the words tearing themselves from his lungs like a knife from his side and again, what was visible of Alex's face twisted into an unfitting expression, like it physically pained him to show anything but a blank face.

"Desmond." Alex's voice was blank, as if he had suddenly remembered the name from the top of his head. "I do not understand what you're saying."

Desmond felt his upper lip curl in a sneer, words catching at the back of his throat and then he simply let himself slump back, lifting his hand to swat Alex's monster hand away to scrub at his face, trying shove Ezio back down, determined not to lose himself to the memories.

Alex was unperturbed by the slap to his offending limb, immediately returning the claws to Desmond's face as the younger man groaned quietly, one hand bracing himself against the wall so he wouldn't slide down to his backside.

"Would you understand," Desmond began, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, "If I told you I have something similar to Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

"Dissociative Identity Disorder, once named Multiple Personality Disorder, is where there is more than a single personality residing in a person's body." Alex's voice was quiet and blank. "How can you have something similar without having the disorder itself. For being a bartender, you also aimed to kill in the action you conducted."

"Which raises even more questions!" Desmond gestured at Alex's mutated arm, coughing quietly as the hand around his throat tightened and then dropped away. "What on earth is that?"

"You don't know," Alex stated blandly, hand slowly twisting back into an actual human hand, fingers still hovering over Desmond's skin and, oddly, that bothered Desmond more than the clawed monstrosity it had been before.

Desmond was about to blithely reply that no, he didn't know what was going one, briefly wondering if he should have been more worried about it, when his phone began ringing, the obnoxious tune once more singing from the speaker.

"It's probably your sister," Desmond said slowly. "Can I answer it or will you freak out at me?"

When Alex simply stared at him, Desmond pulled his phone free and answered it with a crisp but careful, "Hello?"

"_Desmond? Is everything okay?"_

Before Desmond could answer, Alex snatched the device from his hand, brought it up to his ear and declared sharply, "Dana. Meet us at the apartment. I will explain when you get there. Desmond is with me."

Desmond, lip curled in distaste at Alex's action, accepted his phone and tucked it away, flinching back and hitting the wall as Alex's hand suddenly curled around his hip, fingers warm and tight and far to intimately placed.

He didn't have time to question the intimidating man's intentions before he was hefted effortlessly from the ground and thrown over a sharp shoulder, the hand at his hip shifting so an arm was wrapped securely across Desmond's waist.

Desmond spluttered, the air knocked from him at the brisk movement and almost dismissed Alex's soft instruction of, "Take hold of my jacket for stability."

In fact, Desmond had only just reluctantly curled his fingers into the material of the jacket, hearing the hushed creak of leather and then Alex _launched himself from the ground to the nearest roof in a jump hard enough to crumble the asphalt beneath him._

Despite what Alex would say after, Desmond would vehemently deny that he gave a shriek befitting a small girl at the sudden and violent leap that Alex had given, before the man had sprinted across a rooftop and, with wild abandon, started throwing himself from building to building without a single care in the world.

* * *

><p>Alex dropped Desmond to the sofa in the apartment without any preamble, standing there and watching impassively as Desmond doubled over and pressed his hands to his knees, taking in great heaving breaths as he tried to stop himself from being violently sick.<p>

There was a clatter in the kitchen part of the apartment and then Dana was leaning around the doorway, concern crossing her face as she hurried across the room to sit by Desmond, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

"Alex caught you by surprise, huh? That's been happening less often but I suppose you were in the wrong place at the wrong time…I'm sorry. I really should have warned you, but I thought if you didn't know, or didn't care, I should've kept quiet."

"The characteristics you showed were not synonymous with a multiple personality disorder," Alex interrupted, ignoring the look of distaste Dana shot him, continuing with barely a pause, "When you reacted, despite speaking in a different language which can be expected, you showed no recognition in your face upon seeing me. Alternate personalities, being part of the same body, more often than not retain common recognition of what the host has seen. You also said you had 'something similar'. You either have the disorder, or you don't, Desmond."

Desmond rubbed a hand over his face, keeping himself doubled over and somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice spoke up.

_This is your way out._

And then it clicked exactly who Alex and Dana Mercer were.

How Vidic had complained when all of his resources had been moved to the GENTEK side of the Templar society in order to capture the threat of Alex Mercer, who wanted to tear them down. Alex Mercer who, after neutralising a threat he had been a part of, was given a free status and the Templars had to back down from the man who almost single-handedly destroyed one of the main branches.

Desmond decided then and there what he was going to say and do, wistful enough to think that he had the taste of freedom on his tongue for the first time in years.

"If you want me to explain, you're going to have to bear with me. Is that okay?" Desmond asked quietly.

"Desmond…?" Dana asked, almost nervously, and Alex simply and abruptly nodded as he replied curtly, "Speak."

Desmond took in a deep breath and then said, loudly and falsely, "Oh, Dana, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there. No, no, so long as you haven't burnt yourself. Though…could I borrow some clothes do you think? I don't want to stink of coffee all day…" he gave a weak laugh, gesturing imploringly to Dana, whose eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh, no, it's okay. We only have some of Alex's old clothes though, is that okay?"

"Are you sure they'll fit?" Desmond quietly laughed, ignoring the way his voice cracked. "You're brother is a bit more broad than I am, taller too."

"It'll do, I'm sure. Do you mind, Alex?"

It seemed to take Alex a little longer to comprehend what was going on before he murmured, "Follow me, Desmond. My room is this way."

Desmond followed Alex and mutely accepted the clothes he was given, making sure to make his voice embarrassed as he asked, "Uh, could I maybe…"

"Boxers," Alex declared, upon seeing Desmond's gesture, and the younger man nodded, rubbing the back of his head nervously and sheepishly as he accepted the boxers he was given too. It took Alex a few moments to realise he should leave the room so Desmond could dress in peace and, within a handful of minutes, Desmond walked back into the main room, clothes bundled in his arm, and all but swamped in Alex's clothing.

"Could I have a plastic bag to dump this in?"

"Way ahead of you," Dana said brightly, holding one forward that Desmond shoved his 'dirty' clothes in. Then, he tied the bag closed and without even waiting, threw it out of the window that Alex and he had entered through, feeling a little more secure when the bag hit the pavement over a dozen storeys below.

"You have something in your clothes that can be tracked?"Dana immediately asked voice shrill and eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're a bartender! Are they worried you're going to defect to a different place?"

Desmond slowly sat down, taking in a deep breath and saying, "First, and foremost, I'm not a bartender. I'm an assassin under contract – and I stress now that I will _not_ be carrying out my job – to kill you, Dana."

"_What."_ Alex's voice was like a whip, a hand falling to Desmond's shoulder, weirdly warm and grasping tight.

"Alex, he's already said he's not going to go ahead with it…" Dana began, apprehensively and wary. "If we let him explain…I mean, he can't exactly hurt me while you're here."

"Thank you, Dana." Desmond took in a deep breath and barely even flinched when Alex moved to sit next to him, hand still tight on his shoulder. "Have you heard of a company called 'Abstergo'?"

"Abstergo…aren't they a leading force in technological advancements?" Dana asked, confused. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"I'm currently under control by order of Abstergo. Abstergo is under a sect called the Templar Order. Coincidentally, this Order also took part in controlling GENTEK, which I'm sure you're familiar enough."

For the first time, Desmond felt and saw Alex act more than just a little surprised, flinching away from Desmond and eyeing him carefully.

Dana slowly sank into an armchair as she listened, elbows on her knees and hands clasped together under her chin.

"At the moment, my hands are tied. The Templar Order consists of hundreds of thousands of members across the world, all striving to what they call a 'better future'. My life and dozens, hundreds of others too, are also under the Templar thumb against their will. If I had _any_ choice, I would not be sat here right now. I would be as far from here as possible." Desmond gave a bitter laugh.

Alex's hand on Desmond's shoulder loosened and Desmond stopped himself from twitching as Alex's thumb absently swept back and forth across the tight joint and muscle, a movement that Alex didn't seem aware of.

"You know what, Desmond? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," Dana said brightly, though her smile was a little force. "And, because I feel like this might take a while and because I have a feeling you are going to be a veritable gold mine of information, I'm going to make some coffee so you can explain more."

Alex huffed out a soft breath as Dana left the room to enter the kitchen, the woman humming gently, almost forced, and Alex let go of Desmond, just to sprawl his arm along the back of the sofa, hand hanging next to the opposite side of Desmond's face.

"I completely understand if you're distrusting of me, or hate me, Alex," Desmond said slowly, turning his head just slightly to meet sharp blue eyes. "This wasn't exactly the best scenario for two people to get to know each other, not when your sister is potentially in danger."

Alex stared at him for a long moment, and then lifted his free hand to sweep his hood off from his head, eyes intent on Desmond's face. Eventually, he suddenly reached across, surprisingly gentle fingers ghosting across the bruise still prominent on the bartender's face, expression contemplative.

"Hate is a strong word. I'm still trying to make a judgement of you based on your current actions. If you intended to kill my sister, you wouldn't so blatantly declare it when you obviously have some idea of whom, and what I am." Alex's fingers moved to brush against the cut in Desmond's lip and Desmond repressed the urge to flinch away, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. "In fact, to say I hate you would be far too presumptuous."

Desmond was left in a bewildered silence as Alex swiftly and smoothly stood, walking into the kitchen in order to help Dana who had just called out for him to help.

To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure what to think of this conversation, but something inside of him loosened as he realised that yes, he was going to have a final chance at scrambling for freedom.

* * *

><p>So! This is the rewrite I mentioned ever so long ago for those of you who remember! It doesn't appear to be too different, but there are an extra 2,000 words at least! Hopefully it all makes sense.<p>

I'm also glad to say me knowledge of PROTOCREED and Assassin's Creed has become much better though I feel it prudent to mention that I don't own either franchise.

Hope you enjoyed this rewrite (even though I'm technically posting it as a separate story)

The Italian roughly translates to: "Don't touch me, you filth!"


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